Guilty Pleasure
by latbfan
Summary: You don't always get what you think you want. Set in S4. Stefan blames Klaus for all the ways his life has gone awry and decides the only answer is to kill him (or die trying). But their evening takes an unexpected turn down memory lane. For CreepingMuse.


_A/N: This is a little fic I wrote for my charming and talented beta, CreepingMuse, who's always wanting more Klaus/Stefan. I've yet to watch "After School Special" (real life and all, so no new Bourbon chapter), but I endeavored to keep their shared moment believable within S4 canon (post Sire-Bond bombshell). It's rated M for slashy reasons, gentle readers. Consider yourselves warned. Special thanks to JWAB for the beta and the suggestion. Enablers, both of them._

* * *

**Guilty Pleasure**

"You come to try and kill me again, mate?" Klaus asks from the cool darkness. When I don't reply, he sighs. "Stefan, I can't be killed."

"No one gets to live forever, not even you. Or maybe you can, if your head is in one location and the rest of you is in another. I don't know, but I'm willing to find out."

"Or perhaps," he says, stepping towards me, the shadows falling across his face and hiding his eyes so only his lush lips are visible. "Seeing as how you _can_ be killed, this is your idea of a noble sacrifice? Now that your girl fancies your brother?"

I don't answer, just lunge at him as fast as I can. My sword clatters to the floor, but I can't stop. It's his fault, dammit. His. That I'm here. That I've no where else to go right now because Damon and Elena are at the house, being quiet and careful and polite so they don't upset me. While they're glowing at each other. Doing... whatever it is I know they're doing behind his closed bedroom door. But quietly, so I can't hear. So I really don't know. As if any amount of courtesy could possibly result in my not being angry.

Facing Klaus is the only way to maybe set things right. It's the only thing that I can do that makes sense.

I don't know how long the fight lasts. Klaus isn't giving it his all because we aren't evenly matched, but I get my licks in. But over time, as I start to wince and grunt and bleed, Klaus' rhythm doesn't change. He keeps at it, punching me over and over, and I keep coming at him until I can't lift my arms for another blow, when my own blood drips into my eyes, one of which is starting to swell.

When I finally put down my arms because I don't have the strength to even defend myself anymore, he immediately stops punching and smiles at me, the bastard, with those cherubic dimples that don't belong on someone so old and so cruel.

"Feel better, mate?"

It is better to feel pain rather than nothing. Klaus reminded me of that quite recently. But it's wrong to fight someone like this other than Damon, and I can't stand to be around him right now, let alone let him see me hurt, even if I hurt him in the process. I hate him. I love him. But there's too much grief and anger and betrayal.

No, I will never feel better, not ever again. Not after everything that's happened. But now, in this moment, I do feel... something...

I drop to my knees on Klaus' blood-splattered floor and realize, for the first time since Elena woke up on that steel table in the morgue. No, before that. Since Klaus came to town and wanted to kill her in the first place. I'm not angry. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to rip into someone's neck until I taste peaceful oblivion. I just want to lay here, the wood smooth and cool against my cheek.

* * *

I'm pulled to consciousness by the smell of blood and gentle fingers in my hair. Before I can open my eyes, I know immediately I'm not where I fell. I'm on a soft bed.

"Stefan," Klaus quietly says. "I know you're awake. Open your eyes and drink up, mate."

Klaus is looking at me with something akin to pity, a look of concern I don't want to think about too much, so I accept the crystal glass. Even before I take a sip, I know it's human and warm and fresh. Not from a blood bag.

"Not to worry," he cheerfully says, as if he can read my mind. "No one died during the donation."

"I can't," I whisper. I was practicing, working with Damon to drink safely from people. But since... Caroline's been helping with blood bags. But there's a huge difference between a cold blood bag and fresh, warm blood.

"Rubbish. Drink it or I'll bring the girl in. I presume, given your current state, that she will be quite dead. I'm always up for a show, but I'm rather fond of this rug."

I swallow the contents, licking the last drops from the glass, feeling the flash of veins around my eyes and my fangs descend. I want more. I'll always want more. But Klaus snatches the glass from me and sets it on the side table.

"I don't fancy you shattering that," he says. "It belonged to Prince Albert."

"Of course it did," I sigh. "Is there anything in this house you haven't stolen?"

He smiles, but it's sad. "I thought we saw to your anger downstairs."

"What did you expect?" I ask. "What did you think would happen if I woke up in your bed?"

He shrugs, the gesture so thoughtlessly elegant it's unfair. "You needed pain, and I obliged. And then I thought, perhaps, you'd returned to me. We were lovers, once. Brothers."

"I don't want a brother," I say. And before I can stop myself, the hot tears come. I look away, ashamed. I can't even remember the last time I let myself cry. But Klaus only wraps his arms around me.

"That's it," he soothes. "Let it out."

I struggle against arms that could crush me, but Klaus is immovable. More solid than stone. But soft too. I'd forgotten how soft. He's far too soft for something that's been around for so long. I stop fighting him and just let go, pressing my face into his neck as I weep.

Klaus doesn't tell me that everything will work out. He doesn't tell me not to worry, that Damon and Elena still love me even though they're in love with each other. He doesn't remind me that we're closer to the Cure, that she'll fall in love with me again when she's returned to her human self. He doesn't utter any words of solace or comfort, but he doesn't let me go, either. He holds me tightly, but without threat or aggression. I'm pressed against his chest, my arms pinned to my sides, completely trapped. And I'm not afraid. I just cry.

Like when we were fighting, time once again has no meaning. I'd forgotten that about Klaus, how he makes time somehow stop and flash by, all at the same time. I cry not only for Elena and Damon, for the two people I love who no longer love me most, but for all the people Klaus forced me to kill this summer. All the people I've turned so Jeremy could stake them. All the friends we've lost along the way. I cry for Andie and Ric and Jenna and Anna. I cry for Rebekah, who's still daggered, and how, once, so long ago or it might've been yesterday, I could've maybe loved her.

I cry for me, too, because Klaus is the one who started this whole mess. It's all his fault, and now he's the one I'm crying to. I'm as pathetic as Damon has always accused.

When the tears stop, I feel his hand move, once again, to my hair. Tentative and gentle caresses at first, giving way to tugs as he runs his fingers through it like he used to, making it stand straight up.

"I love mussing your hair," he quietly says. "Sexiest bed hair I've ever seen."

When I pull back to look at him, Klaus kisses me. Like my hair, it starts out gentle enough, his beard softly scratching my lips. But I quickly vamp out, tasting the sharp tang of his blood as my fangs nick him. His tongue in my mouth reminds me of a home I've not seen in so long I'd started to think it was a dream.

"Stefan," he whispers between kisses. "Luv, it's been too long."

I don't know if he means since we've been together, or since he's been with anyone, but the hunger in his kisses makes me think it's not just me. For all his money and immortality and stolen treasures, Klaus is alone. Living in Mystic Falls, being loved and loving other people back, remind me how lonely I was for far too long. Makes me painfully aware of how lonely I am now. Klaus doesn't have anyone, and at the moment, thanks to him, neither do I. It's my brother and Elena and Caroline and Bonnie and Jeremy who make me feel alive.

I want to tell him that. I want to whisper into his mouth that he doesn't have to live this way before tasting his lips and dipping my tongue into his dimples. But I don't have words for the feelings I have for him, and I can't make promises or speak for anyone else. I don't even know what I feel for this man who's taken everything from me. So I don't say anything. I just let him pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. I kiss him as I unbutton his shirt, sucking his tongue into my mouth, running my hands along his smooth arms and back. I pull him close to me, and he allows it. I relish the feel of him pressed against me, his skin against mine, his subtle warmth against my chest. I smell his arousal and feel his cock rising as it tents his expensive trousers and ruins the neat pleating. I bury my hands in his curls, and he he kisses me back with small moans rumbling from somewhere in the back of his throat.

"Yes, luv, yes," he says, his hand reaching for the front of my jeans.

"I want this," I say.

"Yes," he sighs into my mouth.

"But I want it to be my way."

He hesitates for the briefest of moments. He stares at me, his face open and curious and strangely child-like, almost innocent, before grinning and holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough."

I question his capitulation, and he must see it on my face because he speaks again before I can find my voice.

"You don't hate me, Stefan." It's not a question. "You could argue that I deserve it, perhaps, for the things I've done. And we both know you don't always fancy me. You blame me. You feel anger, but never hatred."

It's true. I don't hate him. I never have, once he gave me back my memories.

I remember all the times we were together as lovers. Klaus could be gentle, but he usually wasn't. At least not at first, not back then. After a night of drinking and dancing and innuendo, after we'd drunk our fill and dumped the bodies, I'd fall asleep in Rebekah's arms. And Klaus would come for me. Rebekah pretended like she was sleeping, and he'd lift me from her bed like a child and carry me into his. Such strength, so much power contained in his lean, elegant body. Most nights, he'd force me to the bed on my belly and pin me down with his fangs in the back of my neck. He wouldn't be tender until later, after, caressing me while he held me to his throat so I could drink from him. He'd kiss and lick all the wounds he'd inflicted as they knitted themselves back together.

"It's not a trick," he says, looking at me again with such pity and kindness that it might be better if he flayed me or staked me or devised some other torture. Anything but that look. "Do what you will. You can't hurt me."

Even as he says the words, I know they aren't true. I might not be able to kill him, but I can easily hurt him, if I that's what I wanted. And that's what I thought I came here for tonight. But as he smiles at me, those damn dimples I used to love tracing with just the tip of my tongue, I realize how much I want him. How sorry I'd be if he were gone.

"But you can hurt me," I say, standing up. "What's to keep you from biting me?"

"Seems to me I could, so long as you bit me after." He smirks and shrugs. "Suit yourself. You have my word: no biting."

When I don't answer, Klaus once again reaches for my jeans, only this time I let him. He pushes them down my legs and impatiently tears his own trousers away. Once we're both naked, he lays down on the bed and takes me into his mouth.

I arch and hiss at the feel of his tight, wet mouth. His hands wrap around my hips and pull me closer. My fingers reach out for his hair, those soft curls that are the perfect length for yanking, and I can't help but groan as he swirls his tongue around my head while one hands gently squeezes my balls. Klaus groans too, the sound vibrating deliciously along my length.

"Stop," I say. "Dammit, stop."

I can feel it, the growing urgency starting somewhere in my thighs and moving to my belly. It's been so long, too long since I've let myself go, since I trusted that the person with me would be safe. I feel too raw to be with anyone, but especially him. All my pent-up feelings and left-over adrenaline from the fight and the rush of human blood in my system make it impossible to control myself, to make this last. I push at Klaus' head, but he redoubles his efforts, licking and sucking with an intensity and determination that takes away my breath.

I come suddenly, no air left in my lungs to scream or curse or do much of anything but feel every one of my muscles spasm and then relax. Klaus swallows, and I almost crash to the floor except his strong hands catch me.

Faster than I can track, I'm laying on the bed next to him.

"Dammit," I finally say, shame once again burning through me.

"No," he whispers. "Just what you needed, luv. Now you can relax."

He licks his way up my chest, lingering on my nipples, nipping playfully with blunt teeth. I gasp, and he latches on harder, his tongue swirling while his fingers pinch and tease the other. His body presses against me, his weeping cock hard against my thigh.

"Kiss me." He slides his arms around me, pulling me closer. "Kiss me, luv."

As I suck his mouth, I wrap a hand around his cock, thumbing the tip and spreading the wetness so it moves slickly in my hand. Klaus moans and thrusts against me while his tongue probes and explores my mouth. I squeeze him harder, making the precum bubble out of him. I collect some with one finger and bring it down between his legs, easing gently into his tight heat, eliciting a cry of pleasure.

I have to be closer, have more of him because who knows if or when this will ever happen again. Klaus lets me roll him over, and I pull his hips so he's up on his knees, his head buried in the pillow.

Completely exposed before me, open and vulnerable, I take a moment to appreciate his beauty, how even his most secret of places is beautiful. I lick and suck and gently bite one rounded cheek and then the other before licking my way to that dark, tight place. Klaus groans and bucks against my mouth.

I came here to kill him or die in the trying, and instead I find myself in Klaus' bed with my tongue in his ass. He's begging, but not for his life, like I thought I wanted. As it turns out, this is much better.

"Stefan... Do it... Luv... Please, luv. Fuck... Please... More."

I flip him over so he's facing me. "I want to see you," I say.

He nods but doesn't speak, just allows me to enter him like he's a girl. He wraps his arms around my neck and his legs around my hips and kisses me between gasps while I fuck him. I brace myself with one hand, using the other to stroke him in time to my thrusts. I don't know when, but somewhere along the way, I vamp out again, nicking his tongue and lips, the taste of his blood replacing the other flavors in my mouth.

I'm staring into those blue eyes when he comes with a shout. He throws his head back and thrashes and thrusts wildly beneath me. It's not long after that I cry out, dissolving into what feels like a million pieces. Klaus kisses me, sucking my tongue into his mouth, his hands tugging my hair, his ass pulling me into him until everything else disappears. For this moment, it's just the two of us and vibrating, mind-numbing release.

As I slow, spent, Klaus pulls me close to him. One of his hands is still in my hair, and the other rests firmly but softly on my back, silently asking me to stay for a moment, to not pull out and away. I bury my face in his neck and lick at his salty beads of sweat and maybe even a tear. Before I hear it, I feel the vibrations in my tongue: Klaus' deep, contented purr.

I remember this feeling, this moment of peace. I never felt it with Elena; I couldn't let myself get that comfortable around her. But I remember it from before, from all those years ago, when I was the Ripper and both Rebekah and Klaus' lover, and it was only in Klaus' bed when I didn't have a care in the world. No guilt or worry or shame, just weary contentedness from having been thoroughly fucked before dropping off into sleep.

Klaus doesn't protest when I ease out of him, but the loss is suddenly almost more than I can bear. As if he feels it too, he turns to me and rests his hand against my cheek. I lean into his touch, covering his hand with my own before pressing a kiss into his palm.

"This... what just happened..." I begin.

"Can't be repeated," Klaus finishes for me as he traces my lips with a single finger. "At least not now.

"Klaus," I say.

"Don't give it a second thought, luv," he interrupts. "Just a guilty pleasure."


End file.
